


Sin Eater

by Anonymous



Series: Episode 46 Canon Divergence AU [1]
Category: The Bright Sessions (Podcast)
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Sex, Broken Bones, Chemical/Pepper Play, Choking, Cruelty, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Domestic Violence Kink, Dysfunctional Relationships, F/M, Face Slapping, Hair-pulling, Masochism, Multiple Orgasms, No Safeword, Permanent Injury from Previous Rape, Piss Enema, Psychological Trauma, Rape Aftermath, Reluctant Sadist, Rough Kissing, Rough Oral Sex, Self-Destruction, Self-Harm Through Sex, Suicidal Thoughts, Top Drop, Unnegotiated Kink, Unsafe‚ Insane‚ and Dubiously Consensual Kink, Verbal Degradation, Violent Sex, Watersports, Wetting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-10 11:32:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13500912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Sometimes, a person gets so broken that nothing can help them—not time, not surgery, not even a month-long European honeymoon. When Sam's self-destructive spiral becomes life-threatening, Mark realizes the only way to keep her unhurt is to hurt her himself. Maybe some people are just destined inflict the lesser of two pains on others.





	Sin Eater

Mark fidgeted with his wedding band while he waited in the hallway. Joan’s new office building was so quiet and fancy that he always felt like he was loitering whenever he got locked out like this. He jumped at a slamming door somewhere around the corner. Sheesh. Eight weeks as Mr. and Mrs. Bryant, and Sam’s jumpiness was already wearing off on him. At this rate, he’d be living off noodles and Doctor Who reruns by the time Indiana actually felt like spring.

Joan opened her office door at the second knock. “I _thought_ I heard knocking. Hi, Mark. What are you doing here?”

“Oh, you know, we were in the area…” Mark shrugged. "If this is a bad time, I can come back later. I was feeling antsy and wanted to talk, and I don't exactly have an abundance of friends, so I wasn't sure where to go. But I'm mostly killing time, so—"

“No, I’m glad you stopped by.” Joan ushered him in. “I don’t have any patients this afternoon, so it’s completely fine. That's why the main door was locked. Where’s Sam?”

“She said she had an errand to run.” Mark frowned. “That’s literally all she said. ‘An errand.’ So I dropped her off and went to the frame store, and then walked around the park for a while, and then got lunch, and now I’m here. Just waiting to find out where the fuck my wife is...”

“You sound worried. Is it because of Damien?”

“No… wait, what about him?”

“He's been released into a work program. He's currently on assignment in Chicago.”

“Chicago?! They couldn't have sent him to Los Angeles or somewhere else far away from Sam? Not the nearest major city?”

“Apparently not,” Joan said. “I asked the same question. Agent Green was insistent that they didn’t know Sam was living here. Maybe he didn’t, but Wadsworth must have known.”

“Jesus. They think thirteen months is enough time to rehabilitate someone capable of hurting another human being like that?"

"Apparently," Joan said. "Trust me; I asked the exact same questions. Owen said Damien's been an 'exemplary patient' in his mandatory therapy sessions. He wrote that letter 'completely voluntarily.'"

"We both know he wrote that letter to fuck with Sam's head some more," Mark snapped. "He wrote it because he wanted to ruin our wedding and make the anniversary worse for her. 'I'm sorry I made you orgasm twice against your will'? 'I'm sorry I made you enjoy taking my gun so much you willingly pulled the trigger on yourself'?! Jesus fuck. Who in the AM thought that was remotely appropriate to let him send to his victim, much less two days before her wedding?!"

"I know," Joan said. "I agree with you, Mark. Damien's lack of remorse was completely transparent, and his therapist should never have let him send it, let alone check off 'making amends' from his treatment plan. It's appalling."

"It's more than appalling! I think it was the straw that broke the camel's back. Things were still rough, but I really thought they were getting better. Sam seemed so happy about Christmas and her birthday and getting married. And then she opened that fucking letter, and... I thought moving to a new state would help, but it's been even worse than last February. I don't know what to do."

"I'm sorry, Mark."

"Did you ever help a criminal get out of jail free like that?" Mark couldn't keep the bitterness out of his voice. "Did you ever work with atypical rapists like him?"

"Never," Joan said firmly. "And I never will. I promise."

Mark sighed. "I know. Sorry."

"So... you  _didn't_ come here to talk about Damien?" Joan asked.

"No! I wasn't worried about that, though now I am. He wouldn't come here, right?”

“As far as I know, he has no idea that we even moved. Besides, Sam's new house is pretty ‘off the grid.’ You two don't seem to mind staying in, either, even relative to other newlyweds. Take Sam home, set the alarm, and have a week-long movie marathon until Damien goes home. I'll bring takeout and board games this weekend. Just keep a low profile for a while.”

“Yeah, we will. As soon as she fucking calls me.”

Joan gave Mark a pitying smile. “How’s Sam doing physically? She should be about recovered by now, shouldn’t she?”

“Yeah.” Mark fidgeted with the Rubik’s cube on Joan’s desk. “She's all healed up, at least in terms of the surgery. She got the go-ahead for sex right before the wedding. Not that... never mind. She likes and trusts her physical therapist, so that makes going three times a week a little easier on her. It’s still pretty invasive, though. If she'd just let me stay with her, maybe she wouldn't have to leave early every other session because of a panic attack.”

“Is the physical therapy making any difference?”

“No. At least, not that she can tell yet. She still can’t feel anything internally except painful stimulus. The doctor said it was about 50/50 whether normal feeling would ever come back.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Joan’s brow furrowed in concern. “How is she taking that?”

“Not well. Especially since everyone keeps saying it’s probably psychosomatic. I keep telling her, I keep trying to show her I don’t care! We can do other things! Or nothing! But she cares about it a _lot_ , and I think she wants me to be upset _at_ her, not just on her behalf, but... Ugh. It’s such a mess, Joanie.”

“I’m sorry. I wish I could do something for her. For both of you.”

She rose to pour them both glasses of water. Mark stared out at the lake through Joan’s window. It wasn’t as impressive as the cityscape view of Joan’s old office or the lake in Sam's backyard, but he’d already enjoyed a half-dozen photoshoots since Joan had set up her practice the month before. The grey and purple clouds rolling in this afternoon were so thick, Mark wished he had his camera with him so he could snap a photo. Maybe next time.

“Do you think Damien knew what he was doing?” Mark asked abruptly.

“Honestly, I doubt it. He’s not great at thinking ahead. He may have hoped for the psychological impact, but I doubt he realized what kind of physical damage he was doing.”

“Great.” Mark sipped his water. “Well, mission accomplished, and then some.”

“Is it that bad?”

“It’s worse.”

“Oh?”

“I opened Pandora’s box, and it was way worse than I expected.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I… may have asked Chloe to come over when I knew Sam and I would be having sex a few days ago.”

“Mark!”

“Yeah, I know! It’s a pretty fucked up thing to do to your wife. I just… she won’t tell me anything! She never leaves the house, except for when she goes for walks in the middle of the goddamn night when she thinks I’m asleep. She barely talks to me. Or Chloe. Or you. She doesn’t want to be touched unless we’re having sex, and the second we start _that_ she completely shuts off and just lies there but gets offended if I stop. I was getting really worried. So when Chloe got there, I apologized telepathically to her and then... yeah.”

“I can’t imagine Chloe was pleased that you used her like that.”

“No, she wasn’t. But only for about ten seconds.”

“Why is that?”

“Because Sam is… it’s really bad. I’m freaked out, Joanie. Chloe is too.”

“Why? What did you hear?”

“Hear… see… gah. A whole lot more than I ever wanted to.”

Joan waited patiently for Mark to continue.

“She thinks about it while we’re having sex, Joanie. The whole time.”

“She thinks about the assault, you mean? Flashbacks are to be expected, even years afterward—”

“No. These aren’t flashbacks. These are… well, they’re memories, mostly, but… I don’t know.”

“I’m sorry, Mark; I don’t understand.”

Mark took a deep breath. “They’re like… fantasies? She's fantasizing about what he did to her while we're having sex.”

“...Oh.”

“Yeah. Is that—That’s not normal, is it?”

Joan took a sip of water before responding. “I wouldn’t say it’s the most common reaction to trauma, no. But it’s not unheard of, either. She went through a terrible experience where she felt totally powerless. Not only did she have no control over what Damien did to her, but she had no control over how her body responded to it. This is probably her mind's way, either consciously or unconsciously, of taking back some control.”

“Okay, but how do I get her to be in the moment with me again? I realize this is TMI since you’re my sister and all, but I never had trouble, uh... 'satisfying' her before what happened. And now, I mean, I can only choke, slap, and bite my wife so hard! Honestly, I'd rather just not have sex than do it while she's totally stressed out or half-comatose. But she insists, and it's obviously driving her nuts, and I can’t do anything to make it better. I’ve tried everything.”

“Have you tried talking to her?”

“Uh, yeah, Joanie, for once I actually have. But what am I supposed to say to her? 'I don't want to have sex with you because you're too fucked up from your rape for me to enjoy it'?” Mark threw his hands up. "So I just say stuff like, 'I don't feel comfortable having sex unless we're both present and participating.'"

"That sounds very effective." Joan smiled. "Almost like something a therapist would come up with."

"Yeah, I channeled my inner you to come up with it." Mark scowled out the window. "Not that it helps. It just starts another fight, but since we're both kind of avoidant people, that means we just watch the same TV show in separate rooms for a week."

“That sounds hard.”

“Yeah, no fucking kidding!" Mark slumped back into his seat and covered his face with his hands. "God, I love her so much. But we’ve only been married for two months, and I feel like I’ve already lost her.”

Joan squeezed his shoulder. “You haven’t, Mark. Aside from thinking about the incident while you two were… together, did she think anything else that worried you?”

“Only the tiny detail that she goes on those night walks because she’s hoping something will happen.”

“‘Something'? Like what?”

“Rape. Torture. Murder.”

“Do you think she’s looking for a sexual thrill from the element of potential danger?”

“No. It’s not like she wants to get off on that. It’s like she wants to feel… peace. I don’t know.”

“Do you think she’s at risk of harming herself?”

“No. I got the distinct impression that being hurt or killed doesn’t do anything for her if she’s the one doing it. She wants to be hurt and killed, but she wants zero control over it. It's like she wants the assault to happen again.”

“Ah.”

“What?”

“Some people react to trauma by trying to visit it over and over again. And, sometimes, they get stuck in a loop.”

“Like Groundhog Day?”

“I—well, yes, that is one way to think about it. It could be that Sam’s trying to relive her trauma over and over again until something changes. Or it could be that her injured mind is trying to heal by desensitizing itself to the memory, or by changing the association from a painful one to a sexual one, hence her thinking about it when she's being intimate with you. Whatever her brain is _trying_ to do, this doesn’t sound like a healthy or constructive process. Did she reach out to the trauma therapists I suggested?”

“I reached out to them for her. She canceled the appointments.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Whatever. She’s her own person. I know what it feels like to think therapy won’t help. Maybe she’s right.”

“She needs to do _something_ to break this downward spiral. Maybe you can get her to open up if she won’t speak to anyone else.”

“Yeah, I’ve tried that. I’ve—” Mark’s phone buzzed. He answered right away. “Sam?”

“Come get me?” Sam pleaded.

Mark jumped up. “Yeah, of course! Where are you?”

“Chicago.”

“Chi—You’re in Chicago?!”

“I took a taxi. Mark, I did something really stupid and now I’m flickering too much to take a taxi back home. Can you please come get me?”

“Yeah, of course!” Mark gestured to Joan and hurried to his car. “Where are you? Are you safe?”

“I’m at the Holiday Inn. But no, I don’t feel safe. I’m going somewhere else. I… I _really_ need to go somewhere private in case I travel.”

“Okay, find somewhere private and safe and text me where it is. I’ll be there in half an hour. Sam, what kind of stupid are we talking about?”

His phone beeped as their connection severed. The tires squealed as Mark backed out of his parking space.

 

Sam barely spoke after Mark rescued her from the public library. She climbed into the back seat, pulled the car blanket up to her nose, and stared out the window. Mark sent Joan a quick update via text and then sped out of the city. The storm sprinkled its early greeting on the windshield.

“Can we listen to music?” Sam asked as Mark settled into the middle lane of I-90.

“Sure. What do you want?”

The fleece blanket gave a shrug-like motion.

“Sondheim?” Mark asked.

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

Mark stuck the mix CD in for her. She rested her head against the window and seemed to sleep. Mark let her rest and didn’t ask questions until they were nearing the exit for home.

“Do you want to pick up food on the way to the house?”

“No. I’m not very hungry.”

She closed her eyes again until they reached the gravel road leading to the secluded property. The steady rain turned to a downpour right as Mark pulled through the security gate. The lake was a silver curtain of rain, and the wooden stairs leading up to the house were slick. When they were safely inside the house with the doors and windows locked, Mark sat Sam on the bed and checked her over for injuries. He couldn’t find any, though her ponytail and clothes were a little disheveled. Darwin purred and rubbed against Sam's arm, then he scurried off to eat.

Mark shut and locked the bedroom door and poured himself a scotch. To his surprise, Sam reached out to take his tumbler from him.

“You don’t even like scotch,” he reminded her.

Sam took a sip, made a face, and then took another sip.

“Do you want me to make you a drink? I could mix it with some Coke.”

Sam shook her head and handed the glass back to him. Mark took a gulp and refilled it.

“Where were you?” he demanded. “What were you doing in Chicago?”

“Research,” Sam mumbled. “For the Foundation.”

“Don’t fucking lie to me! I know you went there because of Damien.”

Sam flinched and looked away.

“What the fuck were you thinking, going to his hotel?!” Mark hugged her tightly, careful not to spill his drink. “Did he hurt you? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I went there to kill him. But I—” Sam hung her head. “Mark, when I got there, he told me to give the knife to him and take my clothes off and, and I… I did. I don’t know why. It was like he still had control of me.”

“Did he have his power back?”

“No. Maybe. Sort of? I don't know. He never had a chance to use it on me other than for a few minutes two Novembers ago, so I’m not positive. But he wanted me to be quiet and let him do things to me without screaming or struggling, and I can't remember it very well, so… I guess he must have. But I knew he might do that to me before I got in the taxi, and I still went.”

“And you were _totally_ going to kill him.”

That snapped Sam out of her monotone. “Yes! Why are you saying it like you don’t believe me?”

“Because I don’t! I think you went there hoping he would do something to you again.”

Sam recoiled, stunned but guilty. “I—what?!”

“I had Chloe come by a few days ago,” Mark said. “I know about you going out at night. I know about you wanting to be hurt like that again.”

“Okay, yes, fine! I wanted him to hurt me!” Sam’s eyes filled with tears. “I wanted him to hurt me again so I could feel something. But he didn’t, not really! He didn’t want to leave any sign he’d touched me, aside from… DNA, I guess. All he did was tase me and fuck me and say horrible things to me. I barely even remember it.”

“Sam—”

“I know how fucked up that is! I just… I can’t keep doing this! I can’t exist like this anymore!”

Mark remembered what he’d seen in her head—the way she way she hated herself every time he tried to kiss her. The rides she’d accepted from strangers at 3 a.m., hoping they’d rape and dismember her so she could finally be at peace. The way she'd fantasized about Damien gutting her or fucking her with a gun that was actually loaded. Her guilt spiral was getting worse, not better, and there was nothing he could do to stop her from self-destructing.

Nothing except take the guilt from her, maybe. But to do that, he’d have to fully earn it.

Sam sank back onto the pillow, crying into her hand. “I’m so sorry, Mark. I should never have married you. I have no business being anyone’s wife. I have no business even being alive! I’m so lonely, even when I’m with people. I feel like a ghost. The only time I feel anything, the only time I feel like I _exist_ is when something hurts. I can’t connect with you; I can’t connect with anyone! We just got married and had an amazing European honeymoon and moved into a beautiful lake house in one of the safest towns in Indiana… life is going really well, but I’m too fucked up to feel anything.”

“Sam, you don’t have to feel anything. You just have to stay alive—”

“No, I _hate_ being alive! I just want someone to put me out of my misery, and no one will do it for me.”

Shit. Mark debated whether to call Joan or 911. But in his gut, he knew neither would help her. Mark knew what Sam felt like, at least in part, and he knew that there was nothing to gain from hospitals or therapists.

 _Fuck it._ Mark took a deep breath. _It’s not worse than anything I did at the AM. Maybe I’m just destined to hurt people to keep them alive._

“Wow,” he said aloud. “So did he actually even rape you the first time? Or did you just somehow convince yourself that’s what it was?”

“What?” Sam’s anger overrode her distress. “How can you say that? You saw my thoughts right after it happened!”

“Yeah, and you were thinking about the orgasms you had. What am I supposed to think?”

“He had a gun! I was _terrified_!”

“Yeah, and did he have a gun this time? Did you run away last time when you realized his gun wasn’t loaded? Did you orgasm this time when he was fucking you?”

Sam hid her face in a throw pillow. Thunder rattled the windows.

“That's what I thought.” Mark towered over Sam’s shivering little form on the bed. “You orgasmed twice for him the first time. You stayed and made him a fucking sandwich, Sam. And I know you think about him when we’re having sex.” He braced himself, already hating himself for quoting her own thoughts at her. “'That’s not what someone who was _really_ raped would do.'”

“No,” Sam agreed softly. “It isn't.”

“How am I supposed to feel when my wife goes to the hotel of someone who supposedly raped her, _actively hoping_ it will happen again?”

“I don’t know.” Sam blew her nose on a napkin lying on the nightstand next to her empty soup bowl. “Not… _good_ , I guess.”

“Not good? Yeah, no shit, Sam! What the fuck were you thinking?”

“I told you! I was thinking that I wanted to die!”

“Yeah, sure.” Mark swallowed the rest of his scotch and slammed the glass on the nightstand.

“If you’re so convinced I cheated on you, maybe we should just get a divorce.”

“Oh, no. You’re not getting off that easy.” He stood on his knees on the bed, kicking his shoes off. “You don’t get to cheat on me and then make me look like the bad guy by telling me to leave. Nuh uh.”

"Maybe I'll leave you, then." Sam threw her own shoes off the bed. "Why would I want to stay with someone I can't even have enjoyable sex with?"

Mark let out a loud, sarcastic laugh. "Oh,  _I'm_ bad in bed? So you're going to leave me for  _Damien_? Yeah, good luck with that."

She raised an eyebrow at him, and he realized what she was doing. Really, though? Now? With an internal groan, Mark grabbed her by the throat and squeezed. He was genuinely angry and upset, so he found himself choking her harder than he ever would have dared normally.

Sam stared up at him in shock for just a moment before closing her eyes and relaxing against the bed. Mark straddled her and kissed her lips, hoping for a sign from her—was she into this, or was she scared into compliance? This  _was_ what she wanted him to do, right? But Sam gave him no hint whatsoever.

“Well?” he asked. “What should I do to you?”

“Whatever you want,” she whispered.

Nope, that wouldn’t work, because what he wanted was to cuddle her and kiss her and tell her he didn’t blame her, that he was scared but not angry. What he wanted just pushed her away more. He needed to do what _she_ wanted him to, or he was going to lose her forever, one way or the other.

“And what is it you think I want?” he asked.

“To hurt me.” Her voice trembled.

“How do you think I want to hurt you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, I don’t know either. Maybe I don’t want to hurt you at all.”

“What?” Sam’s eyes snapped open. “But I willingly went back and had sex with Damien.”

“So? That doesn’t mean I want to hurt you. Make you go to counseling, definitely—”

“But I’m your _wife_! Doesn’t it make you angry to think about me taking my clothes off and doing whatever he says? Doesn’t it make you angry that I can come every five minutes with him and never with you?”

It did make Mark angry (and sad, and confused), but definitely not at Sam. Still, he decided to play along with her goading. He slapped her so hard it winded her.

“Take that back,” he said.

“No,” Sam coughed. “It’s true.”

He slapped her again, even harder. “Well, if I could mind control you into coming for me, I would. But to be honest, Sam? I don’t really care anymore if you come or not.” Mark pushed her back down onto the bed and started yanking her clothes off her, sending buttons flying and jerking her arm nearly out of its socket in his roughness to get her shirt off.

“Ow! Mark—”

“What happened to your bra?”

“It’s in my purse! I left in a hurry. Jesus, you almost dislocated my arm!”

“Goddammit, Sam. I’ve spent the past year being a _really_ devoted boyfriend, trying to make you happy, trying to make you orgasm, and what do you do? You disappear for two hours and fuck _Damien_ of all people. Jesus Christ, Sam. Maybe I should just treat you like he does. You seem to like it when he treats you like total shit. What do you think? Should I treat you the way Damien does?”

Her only reply was a weak, affirmative whimper. Mark unzipped his pants and sat on Sam’s shoulders. He held her ponytail to root her head in place and shoved his half-hard dick against her lips.

“Open up.”

She turned her head, her smooth cheek dragging against his dick. “Quit. I’m not in the mood.”

“I didn’t ask if you were in the mood. I told you to open up.”

She pressed her lips together, testing whether he would really make her.

“You know I have a good 60 pounds and 12 or 13 inches on you. I can make you do anything I feel like. But I’m being nice and giving you the chance to cooperate, because I don’t really want to break your fucking jaw, which is a very real possibility if I have to make you. So. Open the fuck up.”

Sam immediately opened her mouth without another word. Mark was pleased to see a pink in her cheeks he hadn’t seen in a long time. He thrust into her warm, wet mouth, and her tongue flicked over the underside of his cock. Fuck, that felt good. The last time she’d gone down on him had been their honeymoon, and she’d been uninterested at best. Mark had chalked it up to the whole “Let’s spend the entire month of February in Europe to avoid reminders of the anniversary” plan not working. Whatever the case, having her soft mouth around his cock again felt amazing.

“You’ve been holding out on me for a long time.” He pushed deeper, into her throat, making her choke. “You did this for him, huh?”

Sam nodded, her eyes streaming.

“Of course you did. I don’t know why I’m even surprised. You’ll give a blowjob to anyone except your husband? Is that how you think this works?”

Sam nodded again.

“Nope. Not anymore.”

Mark fucked her mouth at a pace and force that felt good for him. He ignored her gagging and muffled pleading, and he pinned her arms under his knees when she tried to push him away. He didn’t stop until he was so hard he was throbbing and her face was covered in tears, snot, and spit.

“Are you sorry?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said hoarsely.

“For what?”

“For… for everything.”

“Nope, not good enough. I don’t believe you.” Mark climbed off her and shoved two fingers into her pussy. “Jesus, did you let him come inside you?”

“Yes.” Sam wiped her pink face on her discarded T-shirt.

“That’s…” Mark hesitated, breaking a year’s training of avoiding the word around her. “That’s pretty disgusting, Sam.”

She swallowed hard, but she also spasmed around his fingers. “I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not.  But you’re gonna be.”

He reached into the nightstand and grabbed a condom. He rolled it on and then grabbed the tiny bottle of habanero extract he’d sprinkled over his ramen earlier.

“Wait, Mark!”

Mark unscrewed the lid slowly, giving her time to use her safeword. “Well?”

Sam pouted her lips. “I’m _really_ sorry. Please don’t do this to me. I’m sorry. You can’t.”

“Oh no, I definitely can. And I’m going to.”

Mark spread her open and shook the bottle onto her exposed clit. He wiped his covered dick up and down over it a few times, then rammed into her. Sam tried, unsuccessfully, to jerk away from him, but she was much weaker than he was.

“No, no, no…” Sam sucked air through her teeth. “Oh god, this is going to suck.”

“You deserve it, though.” Mark kissed her more than a little too hard. “Don’t you?”

“I do,” she breathed. “But Mark, I’m scared.”

“You probably should have thought of that before you went to Chicago.”

It took a moment for the heat to sink in. Mark was already fucking her at a good clip when she started to struggle in earnest.

“Ow, Mark, you’re hurting me! Holy _shit_ , it hurts so much!”

“But you can feel me, right?”

“Yes, but it hurts!” She pushed in vain at his shoulders. “It feels like it’s doing permanent damage, Mark.”

He wanted to break kayfabe and remind her that it wasn’t, it just felt that way. But she was the one who’d told him how capsaicin worked. And it wasn’t what she wanted him to do.

“Feels fine to me,” he grunted. “Besides, your pussy's already broken, right? How will you be able to tell the difference?”

Her chin quivered. “Mark, you’re being really cruel.”

“Well, I’ve tried being nice, and you thanked me by cheating on me.”

“I know.” Sam rubbed at her dripping nose. “I’m really sorry.”

“You don’t even know what sorry feels like yet.” He gripped her around the neck and forced her to kiss him again.

She whimpered like a wounded puppy, in too much pain to kiss him back properly but meekly taking his tongue without biting. Her hands rested on his biceps, no longer trying to push him away, just holding onto him to steady herself through the burning.

Darwin meowed and rattled the bedroom door with his paw. The noise startled Sam's eyes open.

"What?" Mark asked.

"Darwin." Sam looked past Mark, at the ceiling. "He did that when Damien... I don't want Darwin to worry."

"He's fine," Mark said shortly, afraid to lose her by showing too much gentleness. "I'll feed him some wet food later, after I finish fucking you."

 _Use your safeword!_ He begged silently. _Come on, Sam. Just use it so I can stop and clean you up and get you tucked in with Darwin._

But Sam said nothing, instead just lying there gasping and gritting her teeth while tears trickled into her hair. That was a definite turnoff. The longer Mark fucked her like that, the more scared he became that she was too deep in suicidal thought or compliant mode to use her safeword, even though she might want to. Maybe changing positions would snap her out of it.  He pulled out and flipped her over.

“What are you doing?” Sam asked, wary.

“Fucking your ass.”

“No! No way!” She elbowed and kicked him. “Do not put that stuff on my ass! No! Stop it, Mark! Don't you fucking dare!”

"That's not the magic word." Mark quietly slid the condom off so it was inside out. Her ass was already slick enough he didn’t even need to use spit.

Her muscles offered minimal resistance, welcoming his cock like an old friend. Sam screamed bloody murder, even as her body readily took every inch.

“No, Mark! Stop it!”

“You’ll let Damien fuck your ass but not me? I don’t think so.”

“No! Don’t!” Sam tried to hit him, but only succeeded in swiping dishes off the nightstand with a clatter. “Please, Mark, I’m begging you—”

Mark grabbed her flailing arms and pressed his weight down onto them to immobilize her. Something in her left arm snapped horribly under his hand, and Sam’s scream was ear-splitting. Mark froze; Darwin hissed. Shit, shit, shit. Mark needed to stop and pull out and drive Sam to the emergency room. But before he could even finish that thought, she shuddered from head to toe and gyrated between him and the bed, fresh tears spilling down her face.

“Oh god!” she moaned. “Oh god, Mark, that hurts so fucking much! You really hurt me… fuck...”

“Wow,” Mark said, legitimately stunned. “You’re really fucked up if you came from having your arm broken.”

“I know.” Sam sobbed into her duvet, still pulsing from her orgasm. “I know. Keep going. I need to be punished.”

Mark released her arm but continued fucking her. He held her down by the back of her neck at first, then, worried he might break that too, he grabbed a fistful of her soft hair. She’d cut it to her ears last February, claiming she needed a change. It had grown out past her shoulders now, and Mark liked how she gasped and shivered and cried his name whenever he yanked on her ponytail.

“My arm really hurts, Mark,” she said after a few minutes.

Mark almost stopped. He wanted nothing more than to hug her and kiss her face and take her to a doctor. But even more than that, he wanted her to live a long, happy life—preferably with him. And so he ignored her and fucked her harder.

"Mark?" She tried to turn her head to see him. "I said—"

“I don’t care.” He forced her to look straight ahead. “I’ll be done in a few minutes.”

“But it really hurts,” she whined again.

“Shh.” Mark shoved her face into the mattress. “I really don’t give a fuck if you’re in pain.”

“Mark,” she wept, muffled. But her hips were moving with his now, and she was completely coating him with her natural lubrication. “You’re really hurting me right now, Mark.”

“I told you, _I don’t fucking care_.” Mark smacked the back of her head, hard. “I’m not going to stop no matter how much you cry. And it’s not like anyone is around for miles to help you. So unless you want me to pour that entire bottle of habanero extract up your ass, you’ll shut the fuck up and let me finish when I feel like it.”

“Yes!” Sam bucked underneath him. “Hurt me, Mark. Harder. Please, Mark, hurt me, hurt me, hurt me, please. I deserve it.”

Mark ground his teeth. No, no, no. She was his smart, beautiful hacker wife, his savior from boredom and imprisonment in 1810, his knight in shining armor, his soulmate maybe, the love of his life definitely. What she deserved was to be protected, hugged, cared for, cooked for.

The problem was that none of that was what she wanted.

Mark took a deep breath. “You’re right. I'm a pretty nice guy. I would never do this to anyone who didn’t seriously deserve it.”

“Yes! I deserve this!” Sam’s ass tightened around him eagerly. “Hurt me more, Mark, hurt me more, please hurt me more—”

He grabbed her injured arm and pressed it into her back. Sam shrieked in agony, and her back arched in pain.

“Fuck,” she gasped. “Oh no, Mark, I’m so sorry, I can’t help it…”

He thought at first she was about to time travel, but she didn’t even flicker. Then he felt it—the hot, wet tickle on his tight, heavy balls. He’d hurt her so badly he'd made her wet herself, just like Damien had done. Mark’s guilt battled his excitement. Excitement won.

“It’s okay.” He kissed her behind her ear. “The more disgusting you are, the easier it is to keep you all to myself.”

Sam exploded underneath him at that, thrashing and gasping and crying his name. “Mark, I love you, I’m sorry, I love you, I really really love you, oh god, Mark…”

Mark fucked her as hard and fast as he could while she came. He only lasted a few seconds longer. He was no match for her powerful, rhythmic clenching, much less the way it caused her stream to stop and start like a warm fountain. He inhaled her sweat and hair product as he finally allowed himself to shoot a massive load deep inside her ass.

“That was amazing,” Sam whispered. "Mark, I'm... wow."

“Mm.” Mark nuzzled her neck. His hand found her clit, and his aggressive circling of the burning, oversensitive nub made her twitch.

Sam tried to worm out from underneath him. “Should we change the sheets?”

“No. Not yet.”

Mark didn’t pull out, even as she started to get restless.

“Mark?”

“Shh. I’m not done yet.”

“What are you… Mark? Wait, are you—?”

It wasn’t actually easy to do while semi-erect, much less while actually inside someone (especially someone who was squirming like Sam currently was), but Mark had a little practice. He kept Sam pinned under his weight and filled her ass with his piss.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe you’re…” Heat was rising off her pink skin again. “Mark… Mark…"

He rubbed her a little faster. Sam laughed nervously and tried to move his hand.

"Mark, stop. I'm done. I'm ridiculously ticklish now. And this is completely—”

“You’re really turned on. I think you honestly  _like_ this. Do you like it, Sam?”

“No! It’s disgusting,” Sam protested, but not very convincingly.

“Yeah, I agree, it’s incredibly disgusting. That’s why I can’t believe you’re getting off on it. What the fuck, Sam. I was just doing it to put you in your place, but you’re actually going to come from it. That's so weird and gross." He braced himself internally before quoting another one of her stolen thoughts. "Only someone absolutely disgusting would orgasm from something like that."

It was like he'd flipped a switch. Her head slammed back into his shoulder as she convulsed yet again.

“Yes! Fuck, Mark, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, please punish me, please!”

The tightness of her latest orgasm made it hard for Mark to finish his objective. He patiently waited for her climax to end, and then he moved his other hand under her to grope her newly rounded stomach while forcing the last drops into her.

“Oh, holy fucking shit, Mark.” Sam collapsed onto the mattress. “I don’t think I’ve ever been more in love with you than I am right this second. Wow. Fuck. Just... wow.”

For a minute, as she lay there panting, Mark felt happy and close to Sam for the first time in months. But then he shifted, brushing her arm, and she yelped as her whole body curled away from him. Everything inside him ached with regret.

“Are you okay?” He sat up, pulling out carefully.

“I don’t know. My arm really, really hurts.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry. I’m pretty sure I broke it.”

She shuddered, but the noise she made was all pleasure. “Yeah, that was really… wow.”

“Sam, about what just happened—”

“I’m sorry for wetting the bed.”

“No, not that. That’s okay.”

“I’ll clean it up and get a new mattress, I promise. I know it’s super gross.”

“Actually, I thought it was really, really hot.”

“What? Really?”

“I mean, it would have been ideal to put a mattress cover on beforehand, but I lost control when I felt it happening, so… definitely not something to apologize for.”

“Oh. Well… good. It hurt like a mother, though. That pepper stuff is like, Satan’s jizz, and peeing only made it worse.”

“I can help with that. A little, at least.” Mark grabbed the small jar of coconut oil from the nightstand and scooped some onto his fingers. He lay next to her, rubbing the solid white oil into her abused folds.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“The fat will help with the burning.”

“I thought you were supposed to use dairy?”

“Yeah, dairy’s good too, but all we have in the fridge is vanilla yogurt, so you’re getting coconut oil.” He pushed the oil inside her with two fingers.

“Oh. Thanks.” Sam, still on her stomach, turned her head to look at him. “Hey. Mark. I can feel your fingers.”

“You can feel the pain going away?”

“No, I mean, I can feel the pressure from your fingers separately from the pain.” She squeezed around him to demonstrate. “I could feel you fucking me, too, but obviously it was a lot more painful, so I couldn’t tell the pressure apart from the pain. It will probably go away when the capsaicin wears off, right?”

“Maybe.” Mark massaged her inner walls, paying special attention to her G spot. “Can you feel that?”

“Yes.” She wiggled her ass, fucking herself on his fingers. “It feels so good. I missed it a lot. I remember how good it used to feel when you used to go down on me and finger me for like an hour.”

Mark remembered that too. He remembered how responsive she used to be, how she used to gasp at his every touch and effortlessly orgasm three or four times in a row. And now… maybe this was the only way for them to have that again. He wasn't sure if he could live with that.

“How long is the pepper supposed to burn, exactly?”

“A few hours,” Mark said. “Maybe a day or two, at most.”

“Oh wow. Okay. Good to know.”

“Sorry. I should have asked—”

“Don’t apologize! I never would have even thought to ask for it. But it helped me a lot, it really did. All of it was just… I needed that, so much. Thank you.”

“Sure. I guess.” Mark pulled his fingers out. They were starting to burn too, but he didn't care.

“Well… I’m going to go to the bathroom now. If that’s all right?”

“Of course. You should probably shower too, to rinse the oil and capsaicin off. Need any help?”

“No, I think I can manage on my own.”

Sam eased gingerly off the bed, disappeared into the bathroom, and closed the door. Mark sat on the side of the bed, resting his face on his non-greasy hand. Was she really okay? After all, she’d been compliant with Damien afterward, too. She’d made him a sandwich, for fuck’s sake. Was that what she was doing now? Mark was suddenly convinced he'd imagined her interest in everything he'd just done to her. He had definitely just broken his wife's arm, and it was totally possible he had just raped her, too. His chest was so tight he could barely breathe.

The toilet flushed, and a moment later, the shower started running. A plastic bottle clattered to the shower floor, and Sam swore.

“Hey, Mark? I changed my mind. I do need a little help. Sorry.”

Mark jumped up and joined her in the bathroom. “What do you need?”

“Can you wash my hair for me?” she asked. “Actually, maybe you can just get in with me? I’m failing pretty hard at showering with one arm.”

“Yeah, whatever you need.” Mark kicked off his wet clothes and stepped into the shower with her.

“Thanks, Mark.”

“It’s the least I can do after, you know, breaking your fucking arm.”

"Hey, it happens. Probably. To some people."

"Yeah. Us. Apparently."

Mark lathered up her hair for her, and Sam shivered and rolled her head in pleasure as he scritched her scalp.

“That feels great,” she said.

“Do you want me to use the brush?”

“No, I like having your hands on me right now.”

He soaped himself up while she rinsed her hair under the shower head. By the time she was ready for conditioner, he was was standing by with a dollop and her shower comb in hand.

“Are you okay?” Sam asked as he untangled her slippery hair.

“Am _I_ okay?”

“Yeah. You seem pretty messed up.”

“I think we’re both pretty messed up, both in general and right this second.”

“That’s fair. Sorry.”

“It’s really not your fault.” He forced himself to take a deep breath. “Listen, what just happened was—”

“It was amazing, Mark. I’ve never…” She leaned back, getting conditioner on his chest. “Wow.”

“Sam, I swear I didn’t mean to—”

“But I wanted you to.”

“Okay, sure, but I broke your arm! I pretty much raped you! I used a fuckton of your secrets and triggers to hurt you. I think we should probably separate until—”

Sam turned around, alarmed. “No! Mark, please, you can’t.”

“I just don’t think it’s healthy.”

“Mark, I feel more connected with you than I have since last February. And for the first time since this February, I actually want to be close to you, touching you, talking to you. I’ve wanted to want all that, but lately I can’t get past my own fucked-up-ness to let myself.  But now… I can! I want to, and I finally can.”

Mark frowned, unsure how to respond to that.

“Besides,” Sam went on, “that was the best sex I’ve _ever_ had. I know I don’t have a lot of comparison, but… Jesus, Mark, if you could just treat me like that every time we have sex—”

“But that’s really not how sex is supposed to be. Even BDSM. You’re supposed to talk about it and have safewords and—”

“I can’t, Mark.” Sam swallowed. “I know you’ve tried really hard to help me enjoy sex the ‘safe, sane, and consensual’ way, but I’m too broken. And yeah, I am in extreme pain right now, but it’s… grounding. I feel like a human instead of a ghost. And I don’t think this, like, cured me or anything like that, but I can feel nerves inside me I thought were lost for good, so that’s something. Right?”

The guilt burned his stomach like a ghost pepper. But he looked at Sam, standing in front of him with her wet hair slicked to her head and cradling her injured arm close to her stomach. Her face was so relaxed, so happy for the first time in ages.

 _The whole point of this was to carry her guilt for her_ , he reminded himself.

“If you feel better, that’s all that matters,” he said.

“I feel so much better. I really, really do.”

“And if you want rough, no-safeword kink..." Mark shrugged. "I can try to live with that. I can’t break your arm every time, but—”

“You definitely don’t have to do that,” Sam assured him. “What you said to me, and the way you held me down, and the peppers, and holy shit, what you did at the very end… I think that would be enough. I just need you to hurt me. And I need you to be completely in control, no safeword. And maybe I won’t need it forever, but maybe I will, but either way… It really meant a lot to me, that you did what I needed, even though I know it wasn’t easy for you.”

“I would do anything for you, Sam.”

“I know.” She stood on her tiptoes to kiss him. “Thank you, Mark. Seriously.”

They finished showering in silence. When they got out, Mark gently rubbed Sam down with one of her big, fluffy towels. He sat her at her vanity and opened the door for Darwin, who had apparently fallen asleep while they were showering. Darwin jumped onto Sam's lap and purred. Mark towel-dried her hair and brushed it into a loose braid for her, another towel tucked around his own waist.

“Gotta look good at urgent care,” Sam joked. “Probably better not to go in looking like we just had a brawl, if we don’t want them calling the police.”

Mark felt all the heat leave his body.

“Oh, fuck… I didn’t even think about—how are we going to explain this to them? And how are we going to explain it to Joan and Chloe?

 “Chloe will understand when I talk to her. And Joan and the others… I don’t know. We’ll tell them I fell.”

“That’s the oldest cover for domestic violence in the book.”

“They would never think you’re capable of that. And they know I’m a clutz. They know those stairs by the carport are slippery when it rains. Or… we’ll tell them the truth, sort of. We’ll tell them that I’m a mess of a human being, and I went to confront Damien, and it went really badly.”

“They’ll want to go after him if we tell them that. They’ll want the AM to bring him in, if nothing else.”

“We’ll tell them I don’t want that, because… I don’t know, because I’ll get in trouble for violating my own restraining order. What’s the alternative? Telling your sister we were having rough sex and it got a little too rough? I guess we could tell her it was an accident.”

“It _was_ an accident,” Mark said.

“That’s the spirit.” Sam grinned. “It’ll be fine, I promise.”

“Okay.” Mark ran his fingers through his wet hair. “Yeah, okay. I can do that.”

“Thank you.” She rested her head against his stomach. “After we get dressed, could you also make me some food? I’m so hungry all of a sudden.”

Mark stood up straight. Sam never asked him to cook for her—she just accepted what he gave her at meal times, or she freaked out and turned the stove or oven off while he was trying to cook.

“Yeah!” He grabbed her a clean shirt and helped her pull it over her head. “Anything you want.”

“I could really go for a grilled cheese.” Sam winced as she gingerly fed the shirt sleeve over her immobile arm. “And some scrambled eggs. And maybe some leftover noodles?”

“Anything,” he said. “You probably want to eat it in the car, though. Urgent care closes at nine, so if we wait too long we have to go to that freestanding Catholic ER, and I’d rather go basically anywhere else to treat sex injuries.”

Sam laughed, the first totally genuine and unworried laugh he’d heard in… well, longer than he could remember.

“Yeah, I can eat in the car,” she said. “Or when I get there. Thanks, Mark.”

He kissed the top of her damp head. There was still a mountain of issues for both of them to work through, and he was absolutely dragging her to counseling tomorrow, whether she wanted to go or not. But for tonight, he was going to enjoy the calm in the eye of the storm... and recover from the day’s events by doting on Sam as much as she’d allow.

 


End file.
